


El'ru'esta

by prettiest-vulcan (LydiaMoonbeam)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hand porn, M/M, why is that not a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaMoonbeam/pseuds/prettiest-vulcan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock's hands are far too distracting, if you ask Jim.  (Good thing no one asked.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	El'ru'esta

**Author's Note:**

> Another cross post from my tumblr (http://prettiest-vulcan.tumblr.com/post/69863392236/elruesta). This one written at two in the morning because I was lusting for some Kirk/Spock hand porn and decided to write some myself.

Jim will be the first to admit that there’s something mesmerizing about Spock’s hands. Sometimes, when it’s quiet during their shift, Jim will find his eyes drawn to Spock’s workstation. He’ll watch the way those slim fingers slide over the panel, pressing lightly on the blinking display, and idly wonder what it would be like to have those hands on his body. Feather light touches down the side of his neck, stroking lightly at his chest, before wrapping firmly around his—

"Captain?" Jim startles, quickly diverting his attention from his First Officer’s hands to his face. "You have been staring at my person for thirteen point three four minutes. Is there something I can assist you with?"

"Nothing, Spock," Jim answers. He clears his throat, hoping that when he speaks again his voice won’t be quite as hoarse. "Carry on."

"Of course, Captain." Spock’s eyebrow is raised in what can only be considered disbelief, likely trying to discern Jim’s latest odd behavior. It’s not Jim’s fault Spock’s got distracting hands.

Jim turns his chair towards the viewscreen and away from temptation, hoping that something will come up to distract him. It’s been a week since anything interesting happened, which had mainly consisted of beaming down to a supposedly uninhabited planet only to find it inhabited with giant earwig-like creatures. Jim hopes to never, ever be sent back to that planet. Luckily, they’d escaped with minor scrapes and bruises; a modest success, all things considered.

Now, however, Jim is wishing for a new planet to show up. They’re currently another week and a half from their current destination (a Class L planet) and he knows it’s unlikely that a planet will just appear without warning, but he can still hope one does. He’s tired of looking at the empty vastness of space; he needs _something_ to focus on. Something _besides Spock’s hands_.

When shift ends, Jim makes a beeline for the turbolift. Unfortunately, Spock is already there and seemingly waiting for him. When the doors close, he feels almost trapped. He tries not to fidget, definitely doesn’t look at the way Spock’s hand presses for their floor. Long, slim fingers lingering lightly against the button before disappearing behind Spock’s back.

"Captain Kirk, it has been brought to my attention that you have been spending the majority of our bridge shift focused on my hands." _Damn_. "If I may inquire, what is your fascination with them?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Jim protests. "I don’t know who told you I was staring at your hands, but they must be imagining things." Spock’s eyebrows lower in that way they do when he’s expressing just how odd his captain is being. Jim flounders for something to change the topic. "Chess tonight?"

"I would not be adverse to the idea," Spock agrees. Jim breathes a sigh of relief, glad he’s dodged the bullet. At least for the moment. There is no way he’s going to admit to anybody that Spock’s hands do it for him, least of all admit it to the man himself. "I will meet you in your quarters in fifteen minutes." They exit the ‘lift and Jim hurries to his room before Spock can question him further.

Jim regrets his suggestion of a chess game. He doesn’t know why he thought this would be a good idea. Spock’s hands are practically pornographic on the chess pieces. Green veins outlined through pale skin, muscles taught as they reach across the board to knock over yet another one of Jim’s pieces. He honestly doesn’t care as long as Spock keeps fondling his rook like that. _Fuck_.

Jim tries not to squirm in his chair, surreptitiously spreading his legs beneath the table in an attempt to relieve the sudden tightness in his pants. Looking away from Spock’s hand doesn’t help any, either. He’s wearing a black undershirt, the fabric tight across his shoulders and chest. The pleased look on Spock’s face isn’t much better, either. Jim is fucked no matter where he fixes his gaze.

"You seem distracted," Spock states. He looks up from his careful study of the chess board to study Jim instead. "If you are unwell, perhaps we should continue our game another night."

"I feel fine," Jim assures him. He makes his move, knowing he’s going to lose this round no matter what.

Spock’s hand hovers above the board, as if deciding which move is best, and Jim licks his suddenly dry lips. It would be so easy to reach out, wrap his fingers around Spock’s wrist and pull it close. Trace his fingers along the green veins, feel the rough pads of his fingertips. Hold his hand straight up to press a kiss to the delicate skin of Spock’s palm.

"Captain? Jim?" Jim blinks in surprise, trying to focus in on the present. When he finally focuses, it’s on the fact that he has, in fact, wrapped his fingers around Spock’s wrist.

"Um," Jim replies intelligently. He shifts the hold of his fingers, intending to let go, but instead finding his fingers trailing the path his mind had envisioned just moments ago. Following the pale green veins, over sinew and knuckles, until he can push his fingers through Spock’s. He’s holding the man’s hand and he’s never been harder.

When he chances a glance at Spock’s face, he notices the mossy flush to his cheeks and the gentle parting of his lips. _Fuck_ , Jim was not expecting this. Spock looks slightly confused, but not unwilling. So Jim does what he’s been aching to do for days: he licks a wet stripe up the inside of Spock’s wrist before biting lightly at the fleshy part of his palm.

Spock can’t quite stifle his gasp and Jim doesn’t dare look up to see what kind of expression is on his First Officer’s face. He shifts his own hand just enough so that he can reach the rest of Spock’s palm, pressing a kiss to the center of it before pulling back just enough to lick a stripe as far up his index finger as he possibly can. There’s no mistaking the guttural sound Spock makes for anything other than permission to continue.

So Jim does. He resumes his hold on Spock’s wrist so that he can suck two of those unbelievably long fingers into his mouth, pressing his tongue hard to the fingertips. He brings his eyes up to Spock’s long enough to see the debauched flush to the Vulcan’s face, the way his pupils have nearly taken over the iris, leaving his eyes liquid pools of lust. Jim moans around the fingers in his mouth, sucking hard before pulling off with a soft pop.

"Been wanting to do this for weeks," Jim admits. Spock is breathing hard, his eyes watching for what Jim will do next. Jim spreads Spock’s thumb away from the rest of his hand, nipping at the webbing there, before biting down enough to leave an impression. The sound Spock makes is similar to that of a wounded animal: high and breathy, disbelieving of what is occurring. Trapped and helpless to stop Jim as he presses a series of kisses across his palm before sucking Spock’s pinky into his mouth.

Jim moves his free hand down to his own slacks, popping the button and lowering the zipper so that he can shove his hand into his pants. He holds his cock at the base, freeing it from the confines of his clothing as he sucks greedily on Spock’s fingers. He strokes himself slowly, drawing it out, as he fits three of Spock’s fingers into his mouth.

Spock tastes slightly sweet, the pads of his fingertips rougher than Jim’s. They rub against his tongue, a delicious juxtaposition of texture, and he groans. Spock’s answering noise is even better, like he’s biting his lip to keep from making any noise at all. Jim is determined to get him to moan at least once, so he takes Spock’s fingers deeper into his mouth. Until the space between Spock’s index and middle finger prevents him from going any further.

He strokes himself as he fucks his mouth with Spock’s fingers, moaning around the digits as they touch the roof of his mouth and the insides of his cheeks. He pulls back only long enough to nip at his fingertips before pulling them back into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he feels them close to the back of his throat. Spock is having trouble controlling his noises now and they go straight to Jim’s cock.

Jim isn’t going to last very long like this, so he pulls off Spock’s fingers in an attempt to keep his orgasm at bay. He presses their hands together, watching the way Spock’s eyes widen when their palms touch. Jim spreads their fingers, forming a V, and Spock’s mouth opens on the filthiest moan Jim has ever heard. It’s like he’s falling apart, coming undone, and it makes Jim’s abdomen clench as he spills, sticky, all over his hand.

He falls backwards in his chair, limp, and closes his eyes. That, he admits, was possibly one of the best orgasms he’s ever had. Spock hadn’t even had to touch his cock and he’d come harder than he can ever remember. He finds himself grinning, pleased with his handiwork. Judging by the way Spock had moaned, he gets the feeling he isn’t the only one who came all over himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of the title: el’ru’esta is Vulcan for ‘hand embrace’ which is what, ultimately, makes Spock come in his pants. The best way I can describe it is when you press the hands together, palm to fingertip, while each person is forming the ta’al (the Vulcan gesture with the phrase “live long and prosper”). It can be used between family members as well as t’hy’la, so I thought it would be a fitting end.


End file.
